


tell me nothing lasts like i don't know

by CallicoKitten



Category: White Lines (2020)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Internalized Homophobia, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:27:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25209946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CallicoKitten/pseuds/CallicoKitten
Summary: Oriol keeps ending up in David's bed
Relationships: David/Oriol
Comments: 1
Kudos: 5





	tell me nothing lasts like i don't know

**Author's Note:**

> look man idk. all i know is that ive got a long piece in the works, so.

Oriol wakes in the bright morning sun, the breeze in his hair and someone’s arm tight around his chest. He knows it’s David even before the scent of incense hits him, before he opens his eyes. David’s the only one who holds him like this; tight, secure. And David’s is always where he ends up.

He has a hazy recollection of the last few nights, all blurring into one, ending up here, David shooting him up with some new and fucking wonderful concoction. Gentle, gentle. He’s always gentle. Lays Oriol back, strokes his hair, smiles, speaks low and level and Oriol remembers surging forwards to kiss him.

He always thinks this time – _the time –_ David will push him away. But he never does. He cups Oriol’s jaw, murmurs his name, says, “Are you sure?”

Oriol never answers. Just kisses him again, drags David down on top of him, spreads his legs so David’s hips fit snugly between them and hisses, “ _Fóllame_.”

And David half-growls, grips Oriol’s hips in a way that makes him feel like the world is falling into place around him, all paths aligning, everything in perfect harmony. Everything, _everything_.

The first time Oriol remembers them doing this, David had smiled between kisses, said, “I knew you’d be back.” In a tone that Oriol knew meant _hoped._ I _hoped_ you be back. And they’d both been drunk - _beyond_ drunk - and Oriol was out of his mind on a cocktail of whatever shit he could find, practically in David’s lap because they keep telling him Axel Collins is in India but his car was full of blood and –

And even then, Oriol remembers thinking it strange that David would say that. No one ever _hoped_ he’d be anywhere. No one waited for him to arrive anyplace. No one wanted him. But here was David, with his gentle hands and his slow smile and his deep fucking blue eyes looking at Oriol like he was – like he was –

He tells himself he doesn’t remember their real first time, just hazy sensations, Boxer driving him home wearing that odd, gentle expression he reserves for when Oriol’s _really_ fucked up. He’ll be outside, Oriol knows. Ready and waiting to take him home.

He’s never said anything about David. Not to Oriol. Not to his parents, his sister, his underlings. Sometimes Oriol wishes he would. Just to get it out there. Out in the open. One less thing to keep his mouth clenched tight shut around. To hold inside. To drag him down beneath the waves. God knows Oriol will never have the strength to do it himself.

David murmurs in his sleep, presses closer against Oriol’s back and Oriol always thinks about staying, about giving in, but every time he does, he remembers his father spitting with rage over that dress. Over that _godamn_ dress. _No son of mine –_

So, Oriol leaves. Trots out to where Boxer is sunbathing on the car bonnet. “You left your phone in the hotel room you destroyed,” he says, as Oriol approaches. “Your father was looking for you.”

Oriol takes the phone and slides into the passenger seat. “Wouldn’t want to keep him waiting.”

“Mm.” Boxer wrinkles his nose. “Might want to shower first.”

He’s probably right, Oriol thinks and back home he’ll stand in front of the full-length mirror in his bathroom, water running scalding hot, staring at his unblemished skin. David never leaves bruises, never leaves him marked and Oriol thinks somehow, that’s the worst part of this whole thing.


End file.
